


Carpathia

by thorsodinsn



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorsodinsn/pseuds/thorsodinsn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He thought he might lose Shane in dribs and drabs as time wore on. He thought he might forget his voice or his smell or the way one corner of his mouth always twitched up seconds before the other each time he smiled; but he didn’t. Even in death, his friend was persistent. A whiff of his aftershave might roll in on a breeze. A staggering corpse might mimic his gait. Rick might close his eyes and see that gun, see the trembling fingers hovering just above the trigger, see the hard-set eyes staring him down, down, down." || In the aftermath of Lori's death, Rick finds himself visited by an old friend. || S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpathia

_When, oh when, will this sinking feeling  
Feel like "man, that was ages ago"? ........._

 

                It had always been a flicker— eyes in the mirror, hooded and dark; heavy footsteps rounding a corner; broad shoulders retreating— going, going, and _gone_. Shane had followed him since that night. His words echoed in the hollow of Rick’s ear. In the wind, Rick heard the chime of the laugh. In the sun, Shane’s tell-tale grin. In the rain, in the night, in the bleak, cold darkness the anger and the pain brewed like a raging storm.

                A bitter taste rose in his mouth with every step he took away from the farm. Every mile of distance sent a pang through his heart. He could not escape the guilt that clutched him so tight he thought he might just tear right down the seams. Shane had been left behind. Bloody and broken, ashen and pale, he lay alone in that field. Rick could not even remember if he’d had the afterthought to close his eyes.

                Despite distractions, despite stress, despite worries piled on top of worries stacked upon shoulders, Rick could not escape his guilt. He thought he might lose Shane in dribs and drabs as time wore on. He thought he might forget his voice or his smell or the way one corner of his mouth always twitched up seconds before the other each time he smiled; but he didn’t. Even in death, his friend was persistent. A whiff of his aftershave might roll in on a breeze. A staggering corpse might mimic his gait. Rick might close his eyes and see that gun, see the trembling fingers hovering just above the trigger, see the hard-set eyes staring him down, down, down.

 

* * *

 

 

                The sun is a fan of irony.

                It smiles down as blood pools on concrete, as spent shells clatter and split on cold stone, as screams echo through dark, empty halls. It blinds him as he comes to the courtyard, grinning so fiercely in its excitement to simply **be**. Its warmth has new beads of sweat rolling down his temples.

                A baby cries. His heart jumps to his throat.

                The shake of a head and Maggie’s bloodied hand grasping for his arm seal his worst fears in the glass case of reality. His tears burn his dry skin and the only word he can force out, over and over again, is, “ _No_!”

                The ground meets him in a rush, splits his skin and snags his shirt as that single syllable bounces off his tongue again and again. The baby’s wails ring so high they ring in his ears. Every hiccup, every gurgle, every cry thrusts a knife right through his struggling heart. This world cannot give without taking. It cannot give him one sunny day to enjoy. It is cruel, and it is harsh, and it does not care how much he loved her, how much he needed her—It took Lori. It snatched her away.

                Then comes the flicker. The shift of the wind. He thinks he sees someone’s boot step in front of his crumpled body and he tilts his head up, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun to find that it is not a mere flicker at all. Shane tilts his head, lips curled in a frown.

“Look at you, man.”

Slowly, Rick pushes himself upright. He scrubs at his eyes but when he blinks away all the sparking black spots Shane is still there. Rick’s mouth hangs open, astonished and confused. He tries to speak but cannot form the words. Shane squats down, elbows on his knees, his nose inches from Rick’s own.

“This what it comes down to? She’s lyin’ in there. Your wife, Rick, ain’t that what you said? Ain’t that what you told me? Pushin’ me away ‘cause she’s yours. So _your wife_ is lyin’ in there, and what’re you doin’? You gonna lay down out here? Give up? Is that your big plan, brother?”

Rick can’t stop staring at him. He wants to reach out, to touch him, but fears that if he does his friend might vanish. Shane’s eyes are on him, neither hard nor soft. They simply observe, as though his partner is waiting for a reaction. Rick doesn’t move. He may as well be stone he sits so still. He can hardly hear the infant squawks echoing about the courtyard.

Something smacks him upside the head and Rick blinks, disorientated, and meets Shane’s eyes.

“You hearin’ me right now? Lori is back there, Rick. You gonna leave her? You gonna let her lie there alone? That’s worked for you before, didn’t it? Worked with me, right?” Shane leans in so close Rick can feel his hot breath. “You gonna leave her to rot?”

A growl works its way up Rick’s throat, low and primal and fierce. He looks around until a glint of something silver in the sunlight catches his eye. In one fluid motion Rick is on his feet, grabbing for the machete still dripping with black blood. A metallic _shiing_! rings through the air as the blade scrapes the pavement. Voices call his name, footsteps clatter after him, but Rick pays them no mind. The sun beats at his back until the shadows swallow him whole.

The corridor reek of death. Bodies lay strewn at his feet, twisted and mangled and bloodied and broken. He hears bones snap and guts squish under his feet as he picks his way through the maze of halls. The groans of the dead resound off the high walls. There is blood on the floor, on the walls, splashed in every corner, staining every brick.

The red, harsh and violent and vibrant even in the dark, fills his eyes until it’s all he can see. It consumes him. It becomes him. Shane is behind him, stalking quietly. Rick does not have to look back to know. Shane’s restless spirit breeds guilt in the pit of his stomach. He can feel him there. He knows.


End file.
